So, after eight or nine hours of sugary snacks, Fantasy Island recaps, Motorhead, and, yes, pain, the tattoo, she is finished. Last night was the last session, and it was kind of a long one, and today, I am tired. So here are some pictures of the event, taken by Jen Wade, the official photographer of my tattoo. Also present last night were JP and, of course, Iggy. If you're ever in San Francisco, you should let him tattoo something on you, for he is awesome.

First, Iggy decided we needed to touch up the green from last time. It looks like he's having trouble staying in the lines, but don't worry!

Here is the green, all finished. Notice how Iggy has thoughtfully protected my tank top with, I think, a dental bib. It's a good thing, too, because JP expressed some admiration of said tank top and wondered why I only ever wear it to yoga and tattooings. It was $8.50 at Old Navy. Who knew?

Jen Wade really liked this one. This is as close as you will get to seeing my face in any of these, because I was sweaty and pale and generally unattractive. I was, however, well hydrated.

Next, he started on the blue, which was really three different shades of blue. When I was researching dahlias for the design, I never actually saw any blue ones. However, blue is my favorite color and we made up the leaves anyway, so there you go.

And here is the finished product, a flower not actually found in nature! Once it heals, it will be much less shiny and the skin around it won't be all red.

Today, I'm kind of uncomfortable, but from the past two session, I know that I heal pretty quick. And, you know, I used to scoff when people referred to getting tattoos as "addictive," because it sounds a lot like saying getting hit in the head with a sledgehammer is addictive. But, you know, I'm already thinking of putting a little something on my ankle.

Of course, I'd like to feel all bad ass and rebellious, but those of you who read my comments know that my dad went and got his own tattoo recently -- and it's illegal where he is. My mom designed it (but I haven't seen it yet -- ahem), and she might do more designs for the tattoo artist in question. So, yeah, my parents are part of the illegal underground tattoo economy. Me? I'm just some chick with a tattoo.